And a savoury venison pie:
From the bare north, my distant home
A border minstrel, lo! I come;
Who much, I ween, have pored
On many a huge unwieldy tome
Imprinted at the antique dome,
Of Caxton, or de Worde:
To dear St. Valentine no thrush,
Sings livelier from a Springtide bush;
Then pay me half-a-crown a line,